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The Molloy Student Literary Magazine
English Department
Spring 2013
The Molloy Student Literary Magazine Volume 9
Damian Hey Ph.D.
Molloy College, [email protected]
Stephen DiGiorgio
Suzy Domanico
Peter Davis
Amanda DeVivo
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Hey, Damian Ph.D.; DiGiorgio, Stephen; Domanico, Suzy; Davis, Peter; DeVivo, Amanda; Drennan, Alexis; Elliot, John; Oliva,
Christine; Smith, Roger; and Williams, Travis G., "The Molloy Student Literary Magazine Volume 9" (2013). The Molloy Student
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Authors
Damian Hey Ph.D., Stephen DiGiorgio, Suzy Domanico, Peter Davis, Amanda DeVivo, Alexis Drennan, John
Elliot, Christine Oliva, Roger Smith, and Travis G. Williams
This book is available at DigitalCommons@Molloy: http://digitalcommons.molloy.edu/eng_litmag/1
The Molloy Student
Literary Magazine
Volume 9 (Spring 2013)
Managing Editor
Damian Ward Hey, Ph.D.
English Department; [email protected]
____________________________________
Student Executive and Editorial Board
Travis G. Williams, President
Bobby Edjamian, Vice-President
Maham Khan, Treasurer
Elizabeth Horun, Secretary
Given sufficient content, The Molloy Student Literary
Magazine is published twice a year in Spring and Fall.
The Molloy Student Literary Magazine is supported by
the Office of Student Affairs at Molloy College. All
authors retain copyright of their submitted and/or
published work.
The Molloy Student Literary Magazine
1
Letter from the Editor
The Molloy Student Literary Magazine, sponsored
by Molloy College’s Office of Student Affairs, is
devoted to publishing the best previously unpublished
works of prose, poetry, drama, literary review, criticism,
and other literary genres, that the Molloy student
community has to offer. The journal welcomes
submissions, for possible publication, from currently
enrolled Molloy students at all levels.
All submitted work will undergo a review process
initiated by the Managing Editor prior to a decision
being made regarding publication of said work. Given
sufficient content, The Molloy Student Literary
Magazine is published twice annually in Spring and Fall.
2 The Molloy Student Literary Magazine
Interested contributors from the currently enrolled
Molloy student community should send work via e-mail
attachment and brief cover letter (including a twosentence biographical statement) to:
Dr. Damian Ward Hey, Managing Editor, The Molloy
Student Literary Magazine: [email protected].
Enrolled students who are interested in becoming
members of The Molloy Student Literary Magazine staff
may e-mail letters of inquiry.
Excelsior!
Damian Ward Hey, Ph.D.
Managing Editor
Faculty Moderator
The Molloy Student Literary Magazine
103B Siena Hall; [email protected]
The Molloy Student Literary Magazine
3
Note on Content and Editorial Policy:
Potential contributors should keep in mind that The
Molloy Student Literary Magazine is not a vehicle for
political content nor for other content of a controversial
nature. This is because the magazine does not provide a
mechanism to present the opposite point of view.
Due to reasons of space, not all accepted pieces may
appear together in the same issue of the magazine. If,
for example, a contributor submits multiple pieces and
more than one piece is accepted, the Managing Editor
reserves the right to choose which piece is included in
the current issue. Accepted items that do not appear in
the current issue may appear in an upcoming issue.
All decisions made by the Managing Editor regarding
publication or non-publication of any particular piece or
pieces are final.
4 The Molloy Student Literary Magazine
The Molloy Student Literary
Magazine
VOLUME 9 (Spring 2013)
LITERARY CRITICISM
Stephen DiGiorgio
Tolkien: Creative Genius and Astute Scholar
Suzy Domanico
Shakespeare’s Sister vs. Katniss Everdeen
7
8
16
ESSAY
Peter Davis
Free Play: Living in Music
23
POETRY
Amanda DeVivo
Student Observer
35
24
36
Alexis Drennan
The Loose Tooth
Something You Can’t Wish Back
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37
38
5
POETRY, continued
John Elliot
The Sharpness of Music
Storm Chasing
41
Christine Oliva
Untitled
Untitled
42
44
Roger Smith
My Dearest Katrina & Sandy
47
PROSE
Amanda DeVivo
That Dreaded Day
Christine Oliva
Short Story
48
49
55
EXTENDED RESEARCH ESSAY
63
Travis G. Williams
What Connects You and Me? The Dualism and
Friendship of Sal and Dean in On the Road 64
6 The Molloy Student Literary Magazine
LITERARY CRITICISM
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Tolkien: Creative Genius and Astute Scholar
Stephen DiGiorgio
J.R.R. Tolkien is held in high regard among
people who appreciate fantasy fiction, and rightfully so,
but what is it that makes his fantasy so exceptional and
how was he able to consistently enthrall his
readers? Robert Foster, a scholar of English and
Medieval Studies, explains that Tolkien's novels are
good fantasy because, “Good fantasy offers the
possibility of active, serious participation by the reader
in an imagined world, which heightens one's sense of
Self and Other” (Foster). Tolkien certainly actively, and
seriously, engages his audience throughout The
Hobbit, but how exactly is he able to accomplish this?
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Tolkien's own expansive imagination certainly
helped him achieve this goal, but credit also must be
given to Tolkien's exceptionally vast knowledge of
literature, which he constantly looked to for
inspiration. For example, Tolkien's familiarity with
classical Greek Literature becomes evident when one
compares The Hobbit with Homer's The Odyssey. By
comparing the overall structure of both books, specific
similar scenes that take place, and the characteristics of
Bilbo and Odysseus, it will become apparent that not
only did Tolkien look to The Odyssey for inspiration
while writing The Hobbit, but also that his respect and
knowledge of literature is part of the reason he has been
able to achieve such great renown.
Perhaps the most basic similarity between The
Hobbit and The Odyssey is the overall structure that both
stories share. Both stories are about the main character's
quest to achieve something, but before fully
accomplishing their goal, they both must undergo a
Bildungsroman, or maturation process, in which they
overcome character flaws that have previously held them
back from being complete characters. For Odysseus, his
quest is the long and arduous journey to be reunited with
his wife on Ithaca, but before accomplishing this he has
to overcome his hubris that gets him side tracked, and
his infidelity to Penelope that prolongs his journey even
further. For Bilbo, his quest is to go on an adventure
with the dwarves in an attempt regain treasure from the
evil dragon Smaug, but before Bilbo is able to
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9
accomplish this goal, he has to overcome his cowardice
and resistance to adventure that he displays at the
beginning of the tale: “Poor Bilbo couldn't bear it any
longer. At may never return he began to feel a shriek
coming up inside. [...] the poor little hobbit could be
seen kneeling on the hearth-rug, shaking like a jelly that
was melting” (Tolkien 17). Although both quests are not
identical, both protagonists go through a similar process
in which they must mature to overcome their
deficiencies of character in order to realize their final
goals.
Another similarity the books share in structure is
that they are driven by the protagonist's interaction with
the various monsters they encounter along their
journeys. All of these encounters with monsters serve
the purpose of showing development within the
characters by highlighting either what they did wrong or
what they were able to correct and do right. Whether it
be Odysseus' encounter with Polyphemus where he lets
hubris get the best of him, or Bilbo's encounter with the
trolls where he is desperate to make a name for himself
as a burglar, both early instance serve to show where the
character begins on his journey. Later monster
encounters, by contrast, show growth within the
characters, such as Bilbo rescuing the dwarves from the
giant spiders or Odysseus overcoming the desire to be
lured astray by the tempting Sirens.
Specific scenes that occur in The Hobbit are also
extremely similar to scenes that take place within The
10 The Molloy Student Literary Magazine
Odyssey. For instance, when Bilbo and the dwarves are
fighting the trolls, Thorin “jumped forward to the fire,
[...] He caught up a big branch all on fire at one end; and
Bert got that end in his eye before he could step aside”
(Tolkien 37). This seems particularly similar to the
scene in The Odyssey when Odysseus defeats
Polyphemus: “Now, at last, I thrust our stake in a bed of
embers/ to get it red-hot [...] Hoisting high that olive
stake with its stabbing point,/ straight into the monster's
eye they rammed it hard” (Homer 9.420-428). Neither
scene is exactly identical but it seems that Tolkien may
have been inspired here by The Odyssey to have his
smaller character overcome a much larger threat by
stabbing it in the eye with a burning piece of wood.
Another scene from The Hobbit that is glaringly
similar to a scene from The Odyssey takes place within
the chapter “Barrels Out of Bond.” This chapter, in
which Bilbo smuggles his dwarf friends out of the Wood
Elf stronghold in empty barrels, bears a striking
resemblance to the encounter that Odysseus has with
Polyphemus, in which he smuggles his soldiers out of
Polyphemus’ cave tied underneath sheep. These scenes
are very alike for a few reasons. First, both scenes have
the main character stuck behind a door which they have
no power to move by themselves. For Bilbo, “Magic
shut the gates” (Tolkien 157), making it possible for him
to slip out with the ring on, but never able to sneak out
with all of the dwarves behind him. In the case of
Odysseus, a humongous boulder blocks the entrance to
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Polyphemus’ cave that only the Cyclops is strong
enough to move: “no twenty wagons, rugged and four
wheeled,/ could budge that boulder off the ground, I tell
you,/ such an immense stone the monster wedged to
block his cave!” (Homer 9.273-275). The predicament
of being trapped behind doors they cannot move requires
both protagonists to think their way out of a tough
situation that they cannot force their way out of. This
leads to both characters devising similar plans to sneak
their friends out.
For Odysseus, his plan is to take advantage of
Polyphemus’ need to let his sheep out of the cave. For
Bilbo, his plan is to take advantage of the gate on the
river that the Wood Elves have to raise in order to send
and receive supplies from the next town. The last thing
that makes both scenes so alike is how both Bilbo and
Odysseus are so worried about getting their friends out
of a sticky situation that they almost forget to make
provisions for themselves to escape. In Bilbo’s case, he
forgets that he has no one to help him get into one of the
barrels and is forced to hold onto the side of a barrel all
the way down the river. For Odysseus, he runs out of
sheep after ensuring all of his friends escape, and is
forced to sneak out underneath a ram instead of a
sheep. This distinction sets Odysseus apart from the rest
of his soldiers, just as Bilbo distinguishes himself from
the dwarves by being the only one to escape without
being inside a barrel.
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The similarities of character Odysseus and Bilbo
share may not seem apparent at first glance because
Odysseus is obviously not a small hobbit just as Bilbo is
certainly not a powerful Greek warrior. However,
although neither main character is exactly like the other,
they both share a certain characteristic that makes them
similar. The characteristic in question is of course their
wit. In crunch time situations, both Odysseus and Bilbo
call upon their intellect to bail them out. This is very
different from other heroes like Beowulf, Achilles, and
Gilgamesh who all primarily rely on their outstanding
strength to fight their way out of tough situations. Some
examples of Bilbo and Odysseus making use of their
quick wit would be the instance in which Bilbo
encounters Gollum, and the instance in which Odysseus
tricks Polyphemus into believing his name is
“Nobody.” When Bilbo first meets Gollum, instead of
trying to kill him with his dagger (he would probably
fail), Bilbo relies on his wit to save him and accepts
Gollum’s challenge to a game of riddles: “Very well,
said Bilbo, who was anxious to agree, until he found out
more about the creature, whether he was quite alone,
whether he was fierce or hungry, and whether he was a
friend of the goblins” (Tolkien 68). Bilbo is smart
enough to take all of these things into account before
trying to attack Gollum with his dagger, and understands
that if he defeats Gollum in the game of riddles he might
have a chance to find a way out of the goblin’s
stronghold.
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Similarly, when Odysseus employs his wit to trick
Polyphemus, he demonstrates that he is able to think on
his feet and avoids giving away any crucial information
to Polyphemus (even though he is about to ruin this great
idea in a few pages when he hurls insults at the Cyclops
from the boat). Although both characters do not use
their wit in the same exact ways, they both seem to rely
upon it most in their moments of need.
Both The Odyssey and The Hobbit share a great
deal of things in common, and it is highly probable that
J.R.R. Tolkien gains some of the ideas for his own work
from Homer. However, just because The Hobbit can be
seen as inspired by The Odyssey does not take anything
away from Tolkien’s ability to write phenomenal
fantasy. In fact, Tolkien's respect, knowledge, and
appreciation for classic literature has only served to
strengthen his ability to write great fantasy by drawing
upon an already tried and true formula. Tolkien is able
to achieve the “serious participation by the reader in an
imagined world” that Robert Foster was talking about
because he is working from a knowledge base that has
already been proven to be able to accomplish this
goal. By working with this framework in his mind,
Tolkien has to simply add his own imagination to the
mix in order to produce fantasy fiction worthy of praise.
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Works Cited
Foster, Robert. "The Uses of Fantasy." Teacher'sGuide
The Hobbit. New York: Ballantine, 1981.
Homer. The Odyssey. Trans. Robert Fagles.
New York: Penguin, 1990.
Tolkien, J. R. R. The Hobbit, Or, There and Back Again.
Boston: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2012.
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Shakespeare’s Sister vs. Katniss Everdeen
Suzy Domanico
In a “Shakespeare’s Sister” from A Room of One’s
Own, Virginia Woolf introduces the idea that a woman’s
attributes are not taken as seriously as a man’s. If a
woman were to be respected and admired for her talents,
she would have had to disguise the fact that she was in
fact a woman. Society views a woman in a certain way
and in order for a woman to be recognized, she must be
fit into an assigned role. In Suzanne Collin’s novel, The
Hunger Games, the protagonist, Katniss Everdeen, must
take on masculine characteristics in order to achieve
success and win the hunger games and yet publically
present herself as a stereotypical female in order to be
16 The Molloy Student Literary Magazine
accepted by society. According to Woolf, in the
sixteenth century, in order for a woman’s talents as a
writer to be taken seriously, she would have had to hide
her gender, for if she had just openly displayed her work,
critics and readers would have scrutinized it so greatly
that the content and purpose would be distorted. Woolf
says that a woman, “who was born with a gift of poetry
in the sixteenth century was an unhappy woman, a
woman at strife against herself” (601). A talented
female poet at this time would have to face the idea that
as herself she was not accepted.
In her extended essay, Woolf discusses what
would have happened had Shakespeare had a sister with
the same talents that he had. To sum it up, she would
have ultimately been destroyed. Woolf explains this
idea by saying, “it needs little psychology to be sure that
a highly gifted girl who had tried to use her gift for
poetry would have been so thwarted and hindered by
other people, so tortured and pulled asunder by her own
contrary instincts, that she must have lost her health and
sanity to a certainty” (600). Woolf would have seen
Katniss as a girl in a battle between what the society sees
as acceptable, and the person that she truly is.
In Suzanne Collin’s novel, the main character,
Katniss Everdeen, is a strong, rebellious, brave, and
clever young girl who is able to hunt, provide for her
mother and sister, and make deals and trades for goods
in the black market. These tougher attributes are often
identified with a male character in conventional fiction.
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17
Collins had to give her main character these typically
masculine qualities in order for Katniss to achieve
success and be taken seriously as a contender in the
Hunger Games. While Katniss was still a child, her
father passed away leaving her mother inconsolable and
unable to provide for their family. Katniss, despite her
youth, assumed the role as provider for both her mother
and her younger sister, a role typically allotted to male
children.
In the beginning of the story, Katniss’ younger
sister Primrose is originally chosen to participate in the
Hunger Games. Prim’s character is that of the
stereotypical young girl. She is naïve, sweet, and prissy.
Prim is sure to be killed if she enters the games. There is
no way an innocent and naïve girl would ever win a
physical competition, let alone a fight to the death.
Therefore, Katniss makes the courageous decision to
take her sister’s place in the games to spare Prim her
gender-determined fate. Before saying goodbye to her
family, Katniss speaks to her mother about caring for
Prim: “You can’t tune out again… Not like when dad
died. You’re all she has. No matter what you feel, you
be there for her, you understand. Don’t cry. Don’t Cry.”
Katniss shows great strength in this scene. This is
something a father would typically say to his family, but
Katniss has assumed that male role for her family now.
This strength is also part of what enables her to succeed
in the games, as well.
18 The Molloy Student Literary Magazine
The people of the Capital, who are lavish, require
Katniss to be more delicate and feminine before they
will accept her. When first arriving in the Capital, an
entire team of specialists is hired to makeover Katniss.
Katniss has to be waxed, wear makeup and fancy
dresses, and even pretend to have a love interest for a
fellow competitor. When first meeting her prep team,
Katniss says, “So you’re here to make me look pretty,”
to which one responds, “I’m here to help you make an
impression.” In order to been seen as a contender, she
must be molded into what society wants to see.
Katniss is assigned a mentor that will guide her
through a series of interviews. She is taught to say the
proper things and act in a certain manner in order to gain
favor from wealthy people who sponsor the Hunger
Games. During her televised interview, Katniss is asked
to stand up and twirl around in her dress for everyone to
see. These stereotypical feminine qualities are what
society wants to see from this young girl. The Capital
would have Katniss reduced to a simple-minded girl who
is to be judged based on her looks and love interest.
However, Katniss uses her cleverness to put on the
façade of the typical girl the audience wants to see, while
still maintain the masculine qualities she needs to win.
Katniss’ skills of hunting and wielding a bow and
arrow, along with her cleverness, are what allow her to
persevere through the Hunger Games. Contrary to those
of the young woman in “Shakespeare’s Sister,” Katniss’
skills are what allow her to stay alive. Shakespeare’s
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19
sister’s skills, by contrast, are what drive her to madness
and even death. Woolf says, “To have lived a free life in
London in the sixteenth century would have meant for a
woman who was poet and playwright a nervous stress
and dilemma which might well have killed her” (600).
Katniss’ skills, as well as Shakespeare’s imaginary
sister’s skills, were not accepted in the world of which
they were a part. However, Katniss’ skills had the
ability to save her, whereas the sister’s skills were seen
as a curse and a death wish.
Towards the end of the story and competition,
Katniss runs into Peeta, her fellow competitor, who is
wounded. She uses her knowledge to gather the specific
plants that can help heal him. The traditional damsel in
distress is not found in Collin’s story; instead Katniss is
the heroic figure that does the rescuing. Katniss finds
Peeta, nurses him back to health, and even risks her own
life to retrieve medicine for him. But in order for the
sponsors to send the medicine, Katniss must put on a
show and display her feminine side. Only after she
snuggles up to Peeta and even gives him a kiss do the
sponsors deem them worthy of receiving the medicine.
Sent along with the medicine is a note from a sponsor
that says, “You call that a kiss?” inferring that her kiss
was not up to their standards. No matter how hard
Katniss tries to resist the stereotypical qualities that the
Capital requires of her, in the end they always seem to
get what they want.
20 The Molloy Student Literary Magazine
Her rebellious side shines through in one of the
last scenes. The Capital only permits one victor, and
Katniss and Peeta are left to decide who will be the one
to win the games and return home. Peeta says to
Katniss, asking her to kill him, “They have to have their
victor” to which she replies, “No. They don’t. Why
should they?” Katniss does not believe that the Capital
should be given what they want. Ever since she entered
the games, the Capital has managed to make Katniss
conform to who they think she should be. This is the
turning point in the story where Katniss has finally had
enough. Just because society will only accept one
winner, this does not mean that they should be granted
that wish.
In “Shakespeare’s Sister,” Woolf suggests that in
the sixteenth century in order for a woman to be taken
seriously as a writer or poet by critics, she had to hide
the fact that she was a woman. Woolf even goes on to
say that, “I would venture to guess that Anon, who wrote
so many poems without signing them, was often a
woman” (600). Rather than expose herself as a female
writer, Woolf suggests that Anon would rather her work
be taken seriously and not be given the credit she is due.
Woolf highlights the difference between the way
society felt towards male and female writers. Woolf
says, “The world did not say to her as it said to them,
Write if you choose; it makes no difference to me. The
world said with guffaw, Write? What’s the good of your
writing?” (601) This is exactly the type of thinking the
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21
Capital imposed on Katniss in The Hunger Games. The
same rules that apply to males do not always apply to
females, whether it is a fictional futuristic story, or
sixteenth century London. In “Shakespeare’s Sister,”
Woolf’s character has to acknowledge that a woman’s
talents are not respected the way a man’s would have
been. In Suzanne Collin’s novel, The Hunger Games,
Katniss Everdeen must face that same reality. Whether
women have to hide their identity to publish their poems,
or put on a façade of the stereotypical girl, they are being
forced to conform to what society considers as
acceptable.
22 The Molloy Student Literary Magazine
ESSAY
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23
Free Play: Living in Music
Peter Davis
Questions
Pick up my guitar and play, just like yesterday.
– The Who
What does it feel like to go home? What does it
feel like to return to something that feels like home –
that takes you home? What does it feel like to
experience something so personal it is, in effect, an
extension of the self? What does it feel like to be home,
yet constantly searching for new horizons? How does it
feel to take chances, to risk, and yet be safely home?
24 The Molloy Student Literary Magazine
How can one have a relationship with an inanimate
object that, placed in your hands, seemingly comes
alive?
What is it like to have joined a continuum that
became a journey – a continuum that you purposefully
perpetuate – a continuum that started when mankind was
taking his first steps on Earth –a continuum that will, one
day, slip away from your grasp, only to be picked up by
another? To answer these questions is to ask other
questions: What is it like to live in music? What is it
like to share one’s music with others? What is it like to
communicate with others within the music?
These are some of the questions I found myself
asking while reading Freeplay (Nachmanovitch, 1990).
When I began to examine my relationship to music, my
musical instruments, and my life in music, I realized
how fortunate I am to have reason to ask and seek
answers to these questions. Some questions, however,
will remain unanswered, for no matter how often we
look behind the curtain, the music, like magic, will
remain a mystery.
Let’s Play
Explaining what it feels like to play his violin,
Nachmanovitch (1990) described:
[an] energetic impulse that moves...from the earth
through the feet...into the shoulder and down the
nerves and muscles of the right arm. The
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25
informational impulse comes from past, present,
and future, through the body, brain, and
personality to descend, again, down the nerves
and muscles of the arms and hands, right through
the instrument.
(59-60)
From this string player’s perspective, the description
provided by Nachmanovitch (1990) is correct. When I
play my guitar(s) (and when I sing), I experience a sense
of energy, connectedness, and immediacy between my
intellectual, emotional, and physical self. The result of
this body-mind-soul connection is music – my music.
And, incredibly, no two moments of my music (or your
music, for that matter) are identical; every musical
moment is unique. This speaks to music’s ability to
capture or reflect the present; by the time a musical note
sounds, that note, like time itself, is gone.
Less Playing, More Music
So as not to disturb his friends and neighbors,
Nachmanovitch (1990) learned to play his violin “so
softly that my music could barely be heard a few inches
away... I learned to tickle the strings so that they just
whispered, yet whispered clearly and easily” (p. 64). In
concert with this economy of playing, Nachmanovitch
(1990) discussed the sense of physical relaxation,
balance, and fluidity that is essential to playing a musical
instrument:
26 The Molloy Student Literary Magazine
I found myself paying minute attention to the
muscle groups as I played...the more I played in
different ways, the more I relaxed and
strengthened the whole body. Playing the
instrument means finding the graceful, balanced
form for each action. (65)
This statement resonates with me; when playing at my
best, my hands, arms, and shoulders are relaxed. My
fingers traverse the fingerboard as gently and delicately
as possible. Small moves can produce big results such
as changing harmonic structure, adding/subtracting
tonalities (e.g., intervals, harmonic complexities), and
creating tension-resolution. For this to happen, however,
the fingers have to be nimble and relaxed. Strength and
tension are also critical to the process – strength to play
the various notes, chords, etc., and tension enough to
produce the sonic qualities you choose to produce, to be
utilized in musical experiences and strategies you
purposefully choose for a client. These qualities include
delicate sounds such as harmonics; soft, breathy sounds;
large, full strummed sounds; and staccato ostinatos such
as those used in Rock n’ Roll/Blues. In fact, if you
observe great string players (guitar, violin, etc.), you will
notice the economy of movement in their hands. At
times, their fingers seem to barely move at all. When I
see this, an image comes to mind: that of fingers dancing
on the strings, similar to a ballerina, gracefully dancing
on a stage.
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27
Practice Makes Perfect. …Or, Does It?
Is the link between mind, heart, hands, instrument,
and emotional expression found in one’s technical skills
and abilities? Does practice make perfect? Perhaps not,
yet choosing to create specific musical sounds and
textures to be used in chosen music interventions often
depends on a person’s ability to play/sing what they hear
in their head, as well as what they feel in their heart.
Nachmanovitch (1990), discussing the role of practice,
supported this when he wrote, “There is a gigantic
difference between...[what] we imagine doing or plan to
do and...[what] we actually do” (66). Nachmanovitch
(1990) added, “The most frustrating, agonizing part of
creative work, and the one we grapple with every day in
our practice, is our encounter with the gap between what
we feel and what we can express.... Technique can
bridge this gap” (66).
Music therapy is, at its best, intensely creative
work that often requires moment-to-moment decisions,
the ability to turn on a (musical) dime, and the ability to
be musically expressive. This is seen particularly in the
Nordoff-Robbins Creative Music Therapy approach
(NRMT), where therapist and client engage in musical
experiences that are fluid, changing, and often
unpredictable from one moment to the next. NRMT
trainees are required to devote considerable time and
attention to developing their musical skills and abilities
because, according to Nordoff and Robbins (2007),
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“creative, responsive freedom in clinical improvisation
depends on increasing a therapist’s…[musical] facility
while widening his or her musical resources” (461).
Borczon (2004), supporting Nordoff and Robbins
(2007), added, “If you feel free to move naturally in your
thinking and in your music making while adapting to the
responses of the client, you’re moving in the realm of
being creative. Being creative is a gift, yet it can be
learned and enhanced” (6).
However, strong musical technique is no
guarantee of clinical success; an extensive skill set does
not magically triumph over empathy, awareness,
intuition, and the gestalt of a person – the entirety of
who they are and what they bring to the therapeutic
process. Nordoff and Robbins (2007) addressed this
when they wrote “a unity [emphasis added] of technical
abilities and musical awareness...increases a therapists
freedom to respond therapeutically to the needs and
challenges ...[clients] present” (XV). Nachmanovitch
(1990) added support to this line of reasoning when he
cautioned, “technique can get too solid – we can become
so used to knowing how it should be done that we
become distanced from the freshness of today’s
situation” (67). This statement, I believe, can easily
apply to music therapy. To keep the music “fresh,” it
must be relevant to the particular place and person, not
the last, not the next, and not the possibility that the
music sounded “perfect.” (This does not, however, deny
the continuum of the therapy process).
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Less Can Be More
Do limits determine a “lesser” outcome, or can
limits produce wondrous and rich results by providing a
sense of clarity as to what resources are available, as
well an understanding of the terrain upon which we will
travel? To this point, Nachmanovitch (1990), discussed
“[the] French word, bricolage, which means making do
with the material at hand....[a] bricoleur is an artist of
limits” (86). In effect, this concept refers to making do
with what is at hand, via the imagination and the
creativity inherent to all. I firmly support the concept of
working with what you have. In my case, I work with
my voice, my guitar, my imagination, my creative skills,
my listening skills, and my expressive skills. Yet, with
these finite resources, I can produce countless different
sounds, textures, rhythms, tonalities, and moods that can
have an emotional and physical effect on others. Add to
this the voice, perhaps humankinds’ most primary
musical instrument, and I can produce lots of music
using very few tools.
Of personal interest is the role our hands play in
creating music. How does music travel from the brain
(and the heart), and make its way to the hands and
fingers, which then “play” the instrument? How do
forms, shapes, subtleties, and pressures in the hand
transfer symbolic, emotional, and spiritual information
into an instrument, which then projects the information
30 The Molloy Student Literary Magazine
in a language, music, that others can understand and
appreciate? Nachmanovitch (1990) examining similar
questions, spoke to the wonder that is the human hand
when he wrote, “of all the structures that impose their
discipline on us, the most ubiquitous and marvelous is
the human hand....enigmas that baffle our brains are
dealt with easily, unconsciously, by the hand”
(81-82).
Set the Stage for Music
To play my guitar means inhabiting a personal,
special place where possibilities abound.
In this place, personal rituals are performed. I remove
my guitar from its case. I place it on my lap or wear it
on my upper torso. My body assumes familiar postures.
My hands go to familiar places. I have entered the
music room, and wherever that room (or physical space)
may be, it’s time to play music. This concept of a
unique, creative environment was referred to by the
ancient Greeks as “the temenos...a magic circle, a
delimited sacred space within which special rules apply
and in which extraordinary events are free to occur”
(Nachmanovitch, 1990, 73).
When I enter the music room for a session, I am
aware of being in a place where special things can occur.
The room has a purpose. It is unique. It’s a room where
music can bring about communication, connection, new
ideas, and personal growth. Recently, during my clinical
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internship, I watched a client, “J,” enter the music room
for his weekly session. When presented with his favorite
instrument (a conga drum), J looked at the instrument
with a sense of surprise and wonder; his eyes were bright
and he displayed a broad smile. With the conga set in
front of him, J assumed a relaxed, assured posture.
When J began to play the conga, he did so with delicacy
and grace, as if saying hello to a treasured friend.
Witnessing this, I felt that, for J, this was a special
moment in a special place. In the music room, J could
stretch his boundaries and experience life in ways that
might be otherwise unavailable to him. For a brief
moment, J, playing his conga drum in the music room,
occupied center stage.
Home
Having spent the majority of my life in music, I
am familiar with entering the creative arena, the
temenos. Yet, I continue to feel a sense of awe, wonder,
and surprise when I enter the music room, however that
room is defined. Years after receiving my first guitar
and taking my first guitar lesson, I am more passionate
about music than I have ever been. Today, when I pick
up my guitar and play, I experience a sense of
affirmation. In the music room, standing on familiar
ground, I am seeking new horizons and new
possibilities. Yet, I know that one day my musical
32 The Molloy Student Literary Magazine
journey will end. But, on this day, living in music, I am
fully alive. On this day, living in music, I am home.
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Works Cited
Borczon, R. M. (2004). Music therapy: A fieldwork
primer. Gilsum, NH: Barcelona Publishers.
Nachmanovitch, S. (1990). Free play: The power of
improvisation in life and the arts.
New York, NY: G. P. Putnam’s Sons.
Nordoff, P., & Robbins, C. (2007). Creative music
therapy: A guide to fostering clinical
musicianship (2nd ed.). Gilsum, NH: Barcelona
Publishers.
34 The Molloy Student Literary Magazine
POETRY
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35
Student Observer
Amanda DeVivo
Sitting here in the back,
I watch the students act, eager to participate.
I become impatient,
As I await my opportunity to be the teacher.
Hearing their thought-provoking ideas,
Makes me want to participate, too.
I have my own input to share.
But, for now, I can’t.
For now, I am just labeled a student, myself,
Sent here to “observe.”
My role is to sit in the back and watch the more
experienced.
For now, my role is to learn.
My mind scrambles, as I want to dive right in.
Franticly, I want to run to up to the front,
To share my thoughts and views.
I long to share my own knowledge.
But, for now, I must wait.
Forced to sit in the back with a muzzle.
Forced to contain my ideas in my mind.
I must act invisible, for now.
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The Loose Tooth
Alexis Drennan
Like a tiny little mirror
bite sized reflections of me
you’re amazing and so hopeful
of what you’ll come to be
I don’t want to let you down
please don’t mimic my mistakes
please remember that you’re beautiful
these words will never be fake
Please don’t forget your innocence
It’s so easy to lose you see
like change on a rollercoaster
or the remote to a tv
Please don’t forget the feeling
There’s a whole world to explore
Don’t lose your imagination
your hopes, dreams and more
Don’t forget to hold your breath
while wishing on stars
and railroad tracks
‘cause the hand’s moving
around the clock
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Something You Can’t Wish Back
Alexis Drennan
Life is a movie without a pause
a story with no bookmark
from training wheels to driving cars
and there's hardly time to park
You don't have to be the greatest
You've been perfect to me all along
In time you'll come to see
the years are so short
but the days are so long
Don't listen to the people
who try to knock you to the floor
try to always love freely
the way you did when you were four
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The Sharpness of Music
John Elliott
Brittle is the husk,
subjected to fracture following trust –
The lousy skin of memory.
The comfortable refrain
loses a silent siren cut. Peel,
peel me bare.
Latent in the music:
a stimulant.
The refrain hits –
Ecstasy –
a single tear filled with smiles.
Visions resurface:
scenes more daunting than dreams,
vivid and malignant.
Joy in the moment,
the moment before woes.
In the words, the melody,
the faces, the smell of it.
Short-breathed and grasping at specters –
temporal woes.
No more than a tooth-split lip back to
a man and a radio, alone.
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Music treat me kind;
Be patient with me.
Carefully and slow to the places I haven’t got the means
to go.
High on memories makes for un-ascendable lows.
Music, remember me to those I am inextricably linked.
When my song is heard,
impact them with unbridled precision.
And make them swallow commonplace remarks.
And spare them no emotion.
Shine glaring lights down ghosted avenues –
Ecstasy –
A single tear filled with smiles.
And have them think of me often in the moment before
And hold, hold on,
release.
And in the void
Feel all of me.
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Storm Chasing
John Elliott
Thunder’s deep but dull.
Lightning can fracture the view from any window.
Lighting’s whip cracks hard as the slip
of the strap of your dress falling to your hip.
The perfect storms they have them both.
Only simple things require oath –
that awful stigma that keeps me quiet.
Hunger pangs from your complicated diet.
I’m counting in short breath to your distance;
Mapping your smooth outline with persistence.
A well-made bed is deep.
Inherited wealth is cheap.
Lightning can fracture the view from any window.
Thunder’s deep but dull.
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Untitled
Christine Oliva
Rain gone away;
chrysanthemums now dewy
in damp terracotta skirts.
That dirt smells
clean,
the world smells
healthy;
wet
grass,
green and good.
I lean on woody trunk
and watch the nearest pine tower,
spread wide over a charcoal sky.
The moonlight outlines me,
my white dress and bent elbows
silhouetted on tree branches.
I feel autumn within and
without.
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I'm enchanted by stars,
the cool
night,
and my shadow.
I
want
to make rabbits’ ears
and flying
birds
dance...
as if I'm six again, singing
for robins and squirrels…
My shadow smiles at
me,
even if I can't see it.
Because this must be
how Peter Pan felt
even
had he grown up.
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Untitled
Christine Oliva
Before me lies a pristine
canvas,
pure white and
free
of paint. Imagination
churns
creativity— my ideas for a
“masterpiece” unborn.
Bright-eyed and hopeful, I
begin
mixing paint upon my
palette.
I can dab that paint brush as I
wish—
it’s called “artistic license.”
But then, that teacher stops
aside
my newly coated
canvas.
She looks at it and turns to say:
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“Oh, it’s really not quite there,
Miss.
See, you’re doing
it all wrong!
Mix that color,
with this other—
it really won’t take long!”
Though it doesn’t stop
there,
I must
confess.
She has such a short
fuse…
She looks at it again and states:
“How
really
do you
choose?
The
hue’s not right…
That
blue’s too bright...
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This green’s a
little dull…
I would do this— it’d look
better,
my miss— gives you something to mull.”
Well…
Our visions do
differ,
but I’m eager to please…
…I wonder if sometimes I live on my knees…
And while I still have
but
such big
dreams…
This hobby…. This painting…
How fascist it seems!
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My Dearest Katrina & Sandy
Roger Smith
You swim. You
who unrobe with eyes wide
shut and dive into
molecules more shallow than broken
glass impressions. I see you, turning your back stroking
away from my oceans, floating
past my continents, oblivious
to the obstacles of my world. You
fish, searching for gills of
nourishment while I drown
praying for a chance to breathe
Again.
I've always understood the mechanics
behind swimming,
and cherished snorkeling (when it
wasn't for my most precious memories).
I don't want to watch Michael
Phelps conquer
the substance of my victimization. I've
never had a phobia of
two hydrogen atoms, covalently bonding with
one, single oxygen
atom,
until it left me with zero.
Sans home. Sans car. Sans clothes. Sans Everything.
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PROSE
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That Dreaded Day
Amanda DeVivo
I can’t believe the day is here. The week had
gone by faster than I could have imagined. My heart had
not stopped trembling since the day I was told the
dreaded news. My worst fear had come true. Yeah, I
remember the day, the day he told us he was leaving; my
knees felt weak, my heart felt shattered. Back to battle
my husband Marc was going, back overseas to the
unknown. It was only one week ago today that he got
word and laid this awfulness upon us. Now, he must go
– with no guarantee of return.
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49
To outsiders looking in, we have it all. I have the
perfect life. I have my handsome husband, two wellbehaved sons, and this big ol’ house with a staff giving
us all the assistance we will ever need. But the
outsiders, they don’t see the pain. They don’t see the
devastation that takes over my son’s faces every time
Marc turns and leaves. It had been two years since he
last left; we thought these days were through.
Last Thursday seemed like any other Thursday. I
spent my morning like any other morning. I woke up to
the birds chirping and the beautiful sunshine. I put on
my robe and with the help of our maids, Josephine and
Christie, proceeded to get the children ready to attend
school. I made sure they dressed properly and brushed
their teeth then sent them downstairs to breakfast. I laid
out Marc’s suit and went downstairs and waited his
arrival. The children and I sat down to breakfast and
waited for Marc before we began eating.
“Good morning, Father!” the children said in
harmony, shortly after he appeared. “Good morning,
sons!” he replied with a small simile. Marc had always
kept his emotions to a minimum, especially with our
sons. I think he wanted to make sure they grew up to
become tough men like he was. It didn’t mean he didn’t
love them unconditionally; he just wanted to prepare
them for the real world. Chrissy brought in breakfast
and we ate our perfectly scrambled eggs, with toast and
sweet jelly in silence like always. We always ate in
silence; everyone seemed more focused on the food than
50 The Molloy Student Literary Magazine
the conversation, and that was ok with me. The boys
then ran off to catch the school bus, and Marc readied to
leave. “Goodbye, Honey,” he said, as he headed out to
the car and off to the army base.
After he left, I went back upstairs to ready myself
for the day. I planned to me three other wives for tea
that afternoon. Meeting with the wives was always a
production. Getting ready took hours – every curl had to
be in place and your outfit had to be perfect. It was quite
exhausting. If you didn’t look the part, you’d be outcast.
When I was finally ready, I headed off to tea, like any
other Thursday.
The day was coming to a close. I had returned
from tea and awaited the children’s return. “Good day,
Mother,” my son said as they both walked in. “Go
straight upstairs and begin your homework before
dinner,” I replied. I supervised as Chrissy and Josephine
prepared dinner, and I awaited Marc’s return.
I heard the car coming down the long cobblestone
driveway, and I rushed to the door to greet my husband
with joy. “Hi, Honey,” I said with a smile, but that smile
was not returned. We walked into the house. The
children came down to greet their father, but he quickly
sent them back upstairs. “What is it?” I said with haste.
“It’s happening,” he said calmly.
“What’s happening?” I said anxiously.
“They’re sending me back.”
My heart sank and my body froze. It was the four
words I had hoped I’d never hear again. I wanted to
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51
speak, but I couldn’t get out any words. The tears began
to flow vigorously down my face.
“Don’t cry, Honey, its gonna be ok.”
“But why?” I said, “but why?”
“Things are getting bad over there, I have no
choice.”
I began to pace abruptly. “But what if something
happens?” I screeched. “What if you don’t come back?”
Marc forced me to sit and placed his arms around me.
Rocking me back and forth, he said, “Don’t say that.
I’m coming back.” I couldn’t bear to look at his face,
because both of us knew there wasn’t an ounce of
honesty in that statement.
I picked myself up and said, “When do you go?”
more calmly.
“One week from today,” he uttered softly.
“So soon!” I felt myself beginning to lose
composure, again. But Marc jumped in and said,
“No more tears. Let’s make it a decent week, my love.”
In the background, Josephine announced dinner
was ready. My knees felt weak, but I rustled up the
strength to head to the dining room. When the children
came down, Marc told them the news. They remained
silent as sadness consumed their innocent faces. We ate
dinner in silence, that night.
Yes, I remember that day, the day that changed
our lives; and now the week had past.
When I awoke this morning, it seemed the birds
were not chirping and the beautiful sunlight did not seem
52 The Molloy Student Literary Magazine
as shiny and luminous to me. It seemed the house was
still and silent. Marc had already gone out back to ready
his weaponry for his departure.
I did not know how I was going to remain
composed, but I had to for the sake of our sons. Yes, I
have all the help in the world but without Marc our
family is empty. The fear and worry will not leave me
until his safe return. Each day will be filled with
uncertainty and despair about my husband’s life.
On the outside, I have it all. On the inside, I am
breaking.
I could hear that a few of our close companions
and neighbors had gathered outside the house to see him
off. I watched Marc prepare his belongings, and my
body became tense. The sadness on my sons’ faces as
they watched him made me want to break down. But I
held it in. Can’t let anyone see you fall. Then the horn
sounded as the car came down the long driveway. It was
time.
“Ready?” Marc said. I wasn’t, but I gave a halfwitted smile and proceeded to walk. He held my arm
and for one last second, I felt safe. We walked out the
door at a slow pace, our sons following. Those gathered
outside patted Marc on the shoulder as they cleared the
way for us to walk through. I could see their lips
moving, but I couldn’t hear any words. I was numb.
I noticed they were all smiling. I knew it was fake, just
like mine. Underneath those smiles were feelings of
sorrow. Everyone was thinking about tragedy – what if
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53
something bad happened? I knew they were thinking it,
because I was thinking it. But I wouldn’t let it show.
The walk seemed long and treacherous. When we
finally reached the car, Marc patted our sons on their
backs and said “Good-bye, sons.” They smiled.
He looked me in the eye and said “I’ll be back, Dear.” I
leaned over and kissed his cheek, keeping my smile up.
He got in the car and the car proceeded down the long
driveway, as we all watched in silence. I stood there for
a while, while the others had begun to disperse,
processing his last words. Truth is, I’ll never know for
sure if he is really coming back. I hate to think the
worst, but I must always be prepared. Deep down, I felt
so scared, that could have been the last time I ever see
him. I wanted to cry, but I didn’t.
I turned to my sons, who were sitting off to the
side in silence. “Let’s go inside, boys.” We walked
back into our big ol’ house, shut the door, and continued
with the day.
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Short Story
Christine Oliva
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick...
The gentle ticking of the grandfather clock filled
the living room. The movements of its smallest hand
were marked by a soft ticking sound which could
only be audible in silence. That, or one simply needed to
be accustomed to listening for it.
The clock was the newest addition to these living
corridors, and had been for apparently four years –
something I wouldn’t have known or particularly even
inquired about had he not stressed this trifle on a daily
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55
basis. He often considered “erratic” changes in schedule
or décor a sign of abnormality. Only “the freakish in
nature” required a change of scenery, and at first, I
didn’t understand what he’d meant. I also thought this
sentiment was a little insensitive of him to say . . . After
all, the clock had been presented to him by his mother as
a gift. She never lingered around long enough to see
how this present was received, but I don’t think her son
much liked it. Its discreet ticking sometimes had a way
of making him twitch… I noticed quickly that he
sometimes had a habit of twitching when things were
unfamiliar to him or they didn’t go exactly as he wanted
...
As the clock continued ticking, I had gone to the
chest – part of the “accepted” furniture in the room – and
had withdrawn my drawing utensils. Momentarily
tranquil in manner, I sat myself by a window. Always
perched by a window, gazing out. . .
I turned away after a while and gently picked up
a piece of charcoal, a soft melody floating on the
currents around me as I hummed and drew a fluid line –
another and another – keeping my voice in tune with
each stroke from my small, rhythmic hand. (I tend to
forget the world around me when I’m drawing, lost in a
world of myself.)
Suddenly, my insides jumped, cringing as a loud
voice shattered my calm.
“Stop! NO. QUIET!”
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The charcoal slipped through my grasp and fell to
the floor, breaking in half. All I seemed to be able to do
was stare at the pieces, frozen, tense. There came an
abrupt banging on the door, even though it was wide
open . . . He was pounding on it for the sake of just
… pounding . . . but still my gaze remained locked on
the floor for another long minute of eternity.
I was terrified to look at the clock. And although
I hadn’t peered up, I could feel his eyes burning hotter
than fire.
“I trusted you! How dare you lie to me!”
I’d lost track of time . . . I’d been in our house
since the moment I’d risen from our bed; it wasn’t as if
I’d escaped and abandoned him. Sometimes I wondered
if that’s essentially what his mother had done, relieving
herself of a toxin and injecting it into me. From what I
was told, he wasn’t always this . . . strange. But I’d be
lying if I said I wasn’t terrified by these episodes. The
very first occurrence, when he’d asked if I’d heard “the
voices,” I started giggling. I thought he’d gotten a hold
of some wine and was just jesting. I didn’t know it then,
but he was completely sober, and until I looked at him, I
assumed he was laughing along with me, as well.
But he wasn’t.
Not at all.
He was very . . . horribly. . . angry and
frightening.
Shortly after that, I discovered he had been
listening to my “suggestions” and had somehow (rather
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57
conveniently) become an aficionado of wine. “Do you
even know . . . w-why I drink? I have to . . . have to
drink to . . . LOOK at you!” Something he hadn’t even
heard himself speak until my expressed reaction swept a
brush of recognition over his eyes. He then managed to
grab my flower vase from the neighboring table (with
the flowers still in it!) and smash it against the wall –
too far from me to cause harm, but just close enough to
rustle the wind for the impacted blow.
I remember him walking up to the door in a fury,
but just as his hand embraced the doorknob, he decided
to take in my closeness. I was absolutely petrified as
he took my wrist. Pale, fragile wrist raised in his hand
like an unfortunate bird who had forgotten how to fly
right above the gaped mouth of a hungry lion. There
was no doubt in my mind that this man could harm me…
I flinched.
But before he could rip my hand free of my arm,
he just leaned in and planted a kiss to my wrist instead.
How sweet of him.
How fortunate for me . . .
Most people would consider this the recollection
of being in the presence of a pitiful, drunken man. If
only it were that simple . . .
“Melinda said! Melinda said you’d forget,” he
spat in contempt, causing my thoughts to snap back into
the present.
“You’re all against me but her! You enjoy hurting
me!”
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I knew it was impossible to communicate with
him over this. I’d tried to talk to him and understand, but
the more I had attempted to help the worse it became.
Sometimes he’d spew profanities, others he’d outright
say I was tempting Death . . . (to put matters lightly).
My voice was timid. “Maybe Melinda would like
a drink too? Maybe some wine will quiet her down –”
I couldn’t finish. His fist collided so forcibly with
the wall, it left behind the stamp of his brutality.
“YOU KNOW TOO MUCH WINE MAKES
HER EVEN MORE BOISTEROUS!”
I stared in horror, my heartbeat accelerating in my
chest and my breathing rapid. In the back of my mind I
wondered how his hand hadn’t been crushed, yet my
subconscious echoed back,
“Be grateful that wall wasn’t you.”
Sometimes I wanted to just shake him and scream,
“Don’t you know? You don’t have to be like this!” He
must be so lonely, so profoundly isolated from all that
exists outside the cacophony in his skull.
I swallowed thickly, “I’m sorry . . . you know, she
hasn’t come to visit us in a while. I must have
forgotten. I’ll put on some tea for her, then . . .?”
My question went unacknowledged.
Scowling, he directed, “Look at me when you
speak.” (Yes . . . that sounded more like him . . .)
I rose from my chair by the window and cut in
front of him, guiltily feeling like a prisoner in my own
home. How callous would I be if I left? The room . . .
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59
the house . . . his life? He was clearly afflicted; I refused
to be like his mother . . . It’s not like I didn’t care for
him . . .
Caring for him was the most crippling
part. Loving him made me contemplate my own
sanity…
If I stood straight enough, perhaps I could meet
his shoulder – though that was being generous – and if
anything (even when he wasn’t like this) I always had an
overwhelming desire to withdraw inside myself, to
shrink whenever he was near. He must have known this
to some extent, I was certain, but nothing was ever
voiced – and for that I was secretly grateful.
The heat rose to my cheeks, crimson surely
seeping into alabaster as I tilted my head upwards ever
so slightly, barely enough to meet his eyes. They were
still burning, which made me quickly second-guess
myself.
Always second-guessing.
It was an honest question that came from my lips
next, so faint that it was barely audible if one was not
listening for it. Like the ticking from that clock (which I
had begun to hear again), part of me hoped he’d
overlook my words as well.
“Melinda doesn’t have to have a drink at all. Why
not tell her to come back later? I was hoping it’d just
be us –”
He shoved me – violently – then, and I stumbled
backwards. I just missed colliding with the clock;
60 The Molloy Student Literary Magazine
however, I could not prevent myself from falling. I
curled up on the floor, my corset had now shifted into an
uncomfortable position that dug into my rib cage and
made me tear up in both eyes, a stabbing sensation to
add to the tearing apart of my heart.
“You’re not even real!” I could see him begin to
twitch, looking down at me as I lay there waiting for the
pain to subside. I shifted my focus to his shoes instead,
unable to endure that stare. “I should make you go away
– Tick! Tick! Tick! – I hate that infernal clock – no, no! I
hate you!”
No he doesn’t. He doesn’t hate me. He kissed me
once, and I’m convinced that a kiss is never just a kiss…
No, not that one he’d left on the wrist.
The other one! Like that clock, I too had been a
gift, and he had accepted me.
His shouting relentlessly pushed through the haze
of my mind. “Yes! Both useless! Best get rid of you
both!”
He’s making me mad too, isn’t he . . . ?
But then his voice leveled, reflecting that splitsecond change in him.
“Well. Get off the floor, then,” he said
firmly. “I’ll take my wine. I should have been finishing
my first glass by now. I suppose I can overlook a
change in schedule, just this once. Get up.”
I tried to remain composed and lifted myself from
the floor as if nothing had ever transpired.
“Should I draw an extra chair then?”
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61
His brow rose. “For?”
My mouth parted in a small o-shape.
“Melinda,” I said.
He burst out laughing at this, and I rubbed the
sides of my arms, trying not to appear too unnerved. I
was incredibly unsure how to handle such a reaction.
“Oh, darling,” he managed after drawing a long
breath, “you amuse me.”
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EXTENDED RESEARCH ESSAY
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63
What Connects You and Me?
The Dualism and Friendship of Sal and Dean
In Jack Kerouac’s On the Road
Travis G. Williams
There are multiple connections we can take
from On the Road written by Jack Kerouac and from
Allen Ginsberg’s work. On the Road has intriguing
links made from Sal Paradise and Dean Moriarty – links
that bond them to make the novel great and a friendship
that draws roots from what it is to be an American.
Ginsberg makes certain biographical references in his
work that the public can connect to. George Dardess,
Karen E.H. Skinazi, and Jason Arthur are three scholars
64 The Molloy Student Literary Magazine
whose work helps define these connections and also help
the reader understand why these connections were
influential in the works of these two Beat Generation
writers. Dardess’s findings indicate a strong relationship
between Sal and Dean that created the essence of On the
Road; their bond was essential to the finding of the
American Dream. Skinazi’s article delves more into
their relationship and presents an interesting analysis that
Kerouac was drawing connection from his French
Canadian roots into Sal and Dean; Sal being Italian and
Dean being American, these two together have pros and
cons. Jason Arthur describes how Ginsberg added
subtle, personal marks in his poetry that allowed the
readers of his time to jump into his own life. Their
findings will support the points that will be made in this
paper: (1) Sal and Dean’s friendship is the driving force
of the novel On the Road. (2) The dualism of Sal and
Dean embodies what the American Dream is, and (3)
Allen Ginsberg’s biographical touches in his works helps
connect the reader into his (Ginsberg’s) personal life.
We will first take a look at how friendship plays
an important role in On the Road. There are several
things to note about On the Road. The novel is heavily
centered on the actions and responses of Dean Moriarty
and Sal Paradise. Moriarty influences Sal to go on his
adventure throughout America. There is something
burning within Sal, and Dean brings it out of him when
he gets released from jail. In the early stages of the
novel, Sal admits: “the only people for me are the mad
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65
ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to
be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the
ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but
burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles
exploding like spiders across the stars” (5). Sal is
heavily interested in what his friend Dean will do next
after his time in prison. He knows that Dean is a very
eccentric yet outgoing person and the friendship between
the two is strong at the beginning of the novel. We
should also take note that Sal had set the story up in a
unique way with the crumbling of an old relationship
and beginning with a new one. George Dardess, in his
article "The Delicate Dynamics of Friendship: A
Reconsideration of Kerouac's On the Road” sums up Sal
by saying:
A comparison between the opening and closing
paragraphs of On the Road gives a preliminary
idea of the book’s structural complexity. Where
the book begins cautiously, with careful
distinctions made between the narrator’s present,
his Moriarty past, and his present Moriarty past, it
ends with a complicate paragraph in which
temporal and special boundaries are
obliterated. (201)
Dardess later explains how this disintegration sets up a
new path for Sal by stating, “The book begins with the
narrator’s construction of distinctions and boundaries; it
ends with his discarding them – a discarding which
indicates his desire to suspend opposites in a perhaps
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continuous state of flux. The book moves from
hierarchy to openness, from the limitation of possibilities
to their expansion” (201). That suspension of opposites
is the relationship he and his wife had; it can be said that
Sal is looking for someone who is like him, a person in a
state of change; someone who is also looking for
something, but is not quite sure what that is. Sal and
Dean make a good match because they are both out for
the same thing.
Since Sal Paradise is engaging in a new
friendship, with Dean Moriarty, he is now able to
experience new things by exploring what America has to
offer and what Dean has in store for him. The two
friends travel all across America; to each end of the
country and with that mileage, their friendship picks up
both pace and baggage. Through the ups and downs of
their travels, Sal’s relationship with Dean has changed
significantly. We have to consider how Jack Kerouac
broke up On the Road to signify the importance of their
friendship. Dardess shows how Kerouac managed to
keep the novel neatly shaped:
The structure is evident in a narration divided into
five Parts, the third of which contains what can be
called the climax of Sal's and Dean's friendship.
Parts One and Two record Sal's gradual
development of excited interest in Dean, while
Part Four records Sal's development of an
apocalyptic fear of him. Accompanying the
growing complexity of Sal's relation to Dean is an
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out-fanning geographical movement. Each Part
records a circuit of the United States with New
York, Denver, and San Francisco serving as the
main geographical and cultural axes. In Parts
Two and Three, important detours are made from
more or less straight lines of progress connecting
one axis with another, the first detour by way of
New Orleans, the second by way of Chicago. In
Part Four, the friends spin off the board altogether
towards Mexico City and the "end of the
road." In Part Five, Sal and Dean go their
separate ways, each friend towards opposite
shores of the American continent. (202)
Sal and Dean, among other friends and acquaintances,
go through many things when traveling. So when
Dardess shows how Kerouac breaks down the gradual
digression of their friendship, he is showing why their
companionship means so much to them. It starta as a
heavy interest of Dean; a “mentee to mentor” view. Sal
sees Dean as his hero in the first part of the novel; he
practically idolizes him. The admiration continues into
Part Two of the novel. Sal is so bedazzled by Dean that
he does not take notice of Dean’s inappropriate
behavior. He sees it, but does not confront Dean about it
as though what Dean was doing was alright by
Sal. Dardess makes a good point in how Sal uses the
word “IT” to refer to Dean’s activity. “Beginning with
Part Three, however, Sal begins to confront the
consequences of Dean’s vulnerability to “IT,” to ecstasy,
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to the promise of being able to reduce time and space to
smaller and smaller increments until they disappear
altogether as measurements of activity. Where in Parts
One and Two, “IT” functions as an ultimate mystery to
which Dean’s relation is priest-like (and Sal’s is that of
the neophyte) . . .” (203). In the earlier parts of the
novel, Sal watches as Dean takes charge and propels him
into the adventure of the American Dream. Dean’s
actions mystify Sal; from his speech to the way he treats
Marylou, Dean’s “IT”, his will to keep moving and
burning captivated Sal who wants to start a new
cycle. However, as the story progresses, Dean’s
behavior begins to become more blatant. Dean has not
only abandoned him in San Francisco, he leaves him in
New Mexico. This is when Sal starts to realize that the
two of them remaining friends is not possible. What
makes Sal’s and Dean’s friendship so influential in On
the Road is the fact that they both go through a lot of
reach the ending. Jack Kerouac makes interesting use of
time and space; each chapter is condensed into weeks or
every months. He uses this quick time lapse to jump
from place to place which makes Sal and Dean’s
relationship change when they are in those different
places. For example, their first destination was San
Francisco, where their dreams supposedly
lay. However, Sal arrives two weeks late and Dean has
already left. This gives Sal time (a little more than
fifteen days) to get to know Remi, Lee Ann, and a
woman named Terry. Sal starts to experience a
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69
connection that he never really had before with Terry; he
starts to become part of her family. However, Sal still
yearns for what Dean was already heading after. It is the
moment in chapter 13 where Sal still wants that “it” and
again, fractures a connection that could have lasted.
Terry brought my breakfast. I had my canvas bag
all packed and ready to go to New York, as soon
as I picked up my money in Sabinal. I knew it
was waiting there for me by now. I told Terry I
was leaving. She had been thinking about it all
night and was resigned to it. Emotionlessly she
kissed me in the vineyard and walked off down
the row. We turned at a dozen paces, for love is a
duel, and looked at each other for the last
time. (Kerouac, 101)
Without telling the readers, Sal feels disappointed with
the departure from Terry. He knows he is starting
something with her and so do the readers. What is
holding him back? Frankly, it is still too early for the
book to end. With two more Parts to go, Sal still has a
long journey ahead. “Well, lackadaddy, I was on the
road again,” Sal says. What’s keeping him on the
road? The readers know it as “It” but, Dardess points
out that Sal mentions something having a burden of
caring for another adult. This is when we start to see
Sal’s point of view change about Dean. This is also the
reason that makes their relationship so
intriguing. Dardess says in his article, “When one adult
assumes absolute responsibility for the existence –
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“burdensome” or not – of another adult, he does so at
what seems a great risk, since both parties sacrifice to
each other their independence.” (204) Sal tries so hard
to follow in Dean’s shoes, but in reality, Sal is in Dean’s
shadow. He is walking behind him when Dean is
speaking with Carlo, he is left in the dust in both San
Francisco and New Mexico, and now he is behind him
taking responsibilities for his actions. The risk here is
leaving a possibly good life with Terry; he leaves her
asking himself what will happen to Dean if he had
stayed. Sal in the later Parts of the novel starts to see
Dean for who he really is. He calls him a “holy goof”
and an “Angel of Terror.” Sal sees the way Dean’s
treating Camille through his outrageous
behavior. Paradise knows that it is the end of the road
when they get to New Mexico. They know that this
place is raw and unexplored to them. For Sal, this is
where he has to make a decision, a painful one. Dardess
states how this responsibility is eventually placed on
Sal. “To have responsibility for your friend means not
only providing him with companionship or with money,
not only defending him before a jury of his peers; it
means also – and painfully – maintaining a sense of how
your friend sees himself apart from the way you see
him” (205). Sal does everything in his power to believe
that Dean would help him find his “it.” Ironically, Dean
is able to do that, but not directly. Sal does not tell Dean
that he sees him as a “god” or role model; however, he
allows Dean to be . . . himself. At the end of the novel,
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71
Sal is left feeling exhausted and guilty. Before they
depart, Dean says “[I] Want to be with you as much as
possible, m’boy, and besides it’s so durned cold in this
here New Yawk . . .” he knows Sal is keeping him
together, as if he realizes Sal’s risk, his burden, at the
last moment. Despite their sad departure, Sal still feels
responsible for Dean’s well-being. He reflects: “And off
we went to the sad and disinclined concert for which I
had no stomach whatever and all the time I was thinking
of Dean and how he got back on the train and rode over
three thousand miles over that awful land and never
knew why he had come anyway, except to see me”
(307). In his heart, the friendship still continues; having
the novel complete a full circle. They each go coast to
coast; testing their friendship and at the end, it still
endures.
Karen Skinazi, author of the article Through
Roots and Routes: On the Road’s Portrayal of an
Outsider’s Journey into the Meaning of America makes
good connections of how the Sal Paradise and Dean
Moriarty characters show both the drawbacks and the
benefits of the American Dream. Sal represents the
outsider that uses his curiosity to connect to other
outsiders – going beyond the limit of nationhood and
bettering oneself. For Dean, he embodies the brash
American that is stuck in the mainstream values of
America. This prevents him from seeing new
possibilities. When Kerouac puts them together, they
create a mental picture of what America is. It is grand in
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its own right, but it refuses to be separated by its own
glory. The dualism of Sal and Dean is very reflexive
one as both men are dependent on each other. Dardess
would agree that whatever happens to one character, the
other is affected in kind.
Skinnazi begins her article with a nice
introduction taken from Pierre Anctil’s preface in Un
Homme Grand which says:
Kerouac, a man situated at the crossroads of two
cultural traditions. He is simultaneously French
America, hiding in the parish halls and the humble
working-class neighborhoods of a hundred
milltowns, and the American Dream, conceived
out of boundless space accessible to all, a dream
that unfolds like a goldsmith taking possession of
his precious metal, progressively appropriating an
entire virgin continent. (86)
What makes this introduction so powerful is that it
encompasses the underlying plot in On the Road. What
is the American Dream? What was Sal’s and Dean’s
“It”? The “boundless space” in which the introduction
speaks about can be seen as the open range of Denver or
the unexplored possibilities of New Mexico. Both Sal
and Dean, especially Sal, want to search America for
their “It.” The dualism comes into play where Sal
presents the “old” conservative view of America’s
values. Readers can see it in Sal’s character; the way he
is laidback and reserved. He is the observer, the watcher
of Dean. Dean, by contrast is the fiery, “new” view on
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73
American value. Dean is the one that takes charge and
possesses the spotlight. They are each connected
because Sal cannot narrate his or Dean’s story without
Dean being himself and chasing his “It.” Sal Paradise
keeps his distance, but still feels he is a part of the dream
of Dean. While Dean is actively searching for his “It”,
Sal is looking for his own without any real
direction. One can make the analogy that Dean Moriarty
is a bull. The American Dream or his “It” is the bright
red cape, flowing in front of him and Sal is the reluctant
bull-rider that has to go along for the ride and hopes his
does not fall off. Although the bull may be the center of
attention, the rider has also taken a persona because he is
daring, risky, enough to take on the bull’s challenge. As
Skinazi explains:
Throughout On the Road, Sal appears to be
hovering in the hero’s shadow—in a luminal
space that is both in and outside the spotlight,
following the hero, Dean, in his conquest of the
continent, but unable to appropriate the land as
Dean does. As a result, Sal Paradise is both
mirror-image and antithesis of the book’s
cowboy-idol, Dean Moriarty. (87)
As stated before, Sal is following in Dean’s shadow. He
chooses to go ride the bull and search for his possible
“It.” But Sal is almost unable to make sense of the vast
world he is entering. Everything fascinates him; from
the drunk people, to the wild ones. Dean is similar, but
he is excited for a different reason. Dean wants to find
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the next “high.” He wants to take on the world and be
on top of it. Both characters mirror each other by their
contrasting characteristics. Skinazi later says: “And this
combination of sameness and difference results from the
fact that Salvatore is an American like Dean, but unlike
Dean, as he is also Italian—a duality that must
negotiate” (87). Sal is on the path to finding his “It,” but
he is not quite there yet, because he is following
Dean. Sal’s pursuit of happiness can be traced back to
the great Americans that came before him, people like
Lewis Clark and Walt Whitman. Their ideas of being
American influenc Sal, so he tries to assimilate
himself. Sal is not the character to put himself into the
spotlight, but Dean is. Sal sees Dean as the perfect
person to force him to “take the open road”. It’s as if Sal
choose Dean to become his liaison, saying “Live the
Dream for me!”, “Show me the way!” Sal knows that he
cannot do it alone, so he chooses to follow Dean and
mimics him. What makes the dualism so dynamic can
be summed up by a few words said by Skinazi, “Sal
cannot be Dean” (88). And rightfully so, their
personalities are at both ends of the spectrum, but it you
bend it slightly, you can reflect each of them. In order to
make them compatible, Jack Kerouac places them into a
world full of possibilities. Both Sal and Dean grow
dependent upon each other: Sal needs Dean’s vibrant
lifestyle to find what he’s looking for, while Dean needs
Sal’s smarts and money to achieve his “fun” in the vast
world.
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75
Despite Sal’s undying will to follow Dean, he
still cannot find the answer he is looking within the
novel. He keeps going back on the road, searching for
that answer. Skinazi supports this occurrence by saying
and quoting from the novel:
Italian American Salvatore goes on the road and
time after time returns to the road because of
Dean (“[T]he bug was on me again, and the bug’s
name was Dean Moriarty and I was off on another
spurt around the road”) (Kerouac, Road 115). He
is not satisfied until he finds and discovers
Dean. On the first venture, he heads straight for
Denver and asks repeatedly, “But where is
Dean?” (39). This question resonates throughout
the narrative. (90)
Sal Paradise knows that he needs Dean to carry on, in
fact Dean is the reason why he is on the road in the first
place. So without his catalyst, Sal is in limbo. Sal’s
ultimate goal is to find out what makes Dean’s
“Dean.” Sal understands that he is the “cookie-cut” guy
who went to school and is “home” oriented. He also
understands that he wants more than that, so he needs
Dean to lead him through this unknown world to
him. Even when Dean is not physically there, Sal keeps
him on his mind, so that bug still remains. So near the
end of the novel, Sal still doesn’t find his answer. He
still wonders about Dean’s well-being; he does not
believe that he has found the “It” he is chasing.
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Another point that can strengthen the dualism Sal
and Dean create is the fact that Sal lets Dean do the
things he does, even if they are immoral. Sal is not an
angel himself, but in probably most readers’ points of
view, Dean is not a very moral man. Readers pick Dean
apart, mainly because of his infidelity. Sal makes it
known that he has severed his connection with his past
love, he also makes it known that “love was a
duel.” Readers sympathize with Sal. Dean on the other
hand, does not make a public apology or appeal. He
blatantly acts immoral and shows no regret. Sal tries to
make sense of Dean’s conduct and implicate it into the
“It” they were searching for. But as the novel shows, Sal
struggles with that reasoning. Skinazi describes the
battle of trying to understand Dean’s actions: “For Sal,
it is the Myth of the West – the notion of the virgin land
– that entices and intimidates him. This West is writ of
glorious and incorruptible: he justifies Dean’s
criminality by claiming that “it was a wild yea-saying
overburst of American joy; it was Western, the west
wind, an ode from the Plains” (93). Since they are
embarking on this new journey, Sal gives Dean’s the
pass on his immoral behavior. He says that this is the
West that is doing it to him and Dean is embracing
it. This is what is means to be an American; wild and
free, like Lewis and Clark had discovered it. However,
this idolization seems to fade when Dean behaves this
way in excess. “When Sal arrives in the West, his
fascination with the spirit of America as embodied by
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77
the Myth of the West suddenly oppresses him, and he
feels a deep and sudden desire to return to his (ethnic)
roots” (Skinzai, 93). Sal repeatedly wants to return to
New York and see his aunt. His “roots” can be seen as
the old ways or how life should remain. Sal is
frightened of Dean toward the end of the novel and
wants to justify Dean because he takes on that burden.
There is also the aspect of Sal being the outsider
or observer and Dean being the native or the action
present in the novel. This confirms the duality between
Sal Paradise and Dean Moriarty. Skinazi explains how
those “quiet” versus “loud” attributes create a nice yin
and yang of the relationship: “The tension between
insiderness and outsiderness is always present in On the
Road. Sal suggests repeatedly that he is outside much of
the action of the novel, despite his active involvement in
the sex, drugs, poetry, and rolling down the open
road. According to his construction of the narrative, the
driving on the road novel is Dean’s, and Sal is a
passenger” (96). All of the events happening around Sal
are influenced or have something to do with
Dean. Everyone is looking for a piece of Dean, but since
Sal cannot be Dean, he is unable to give that to the
people. Sal sits by and watches the story unfold because
of Dean. Dean has control of the wheel, both on and off
the road. And what is a driver on the open road without
his fellow passenger? Sal seems to justify his
passiveness by saying “I only went along for the ride,
and to see what else was going to do” (Kerouac, 129).
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Connections can be made through more than just
two characters. Although Jack Kerouac had made
various connections to his French-Canadian heritage to
his two characters, Allen Ginsberg had made these
biographical links extensively. Jason Arthur author of
the article, “Allen Ginsberg’s Biographical Gestures”
explores the notion that Ginsberg tried to reach out to the
audience and share his life with them. Through his
work, “Ginsberg has always exercised an editor’s control
of the public face of his private life” (Arthur,
227). Arthur talks about Ginsberg’s works pre-Howl
and how his poetry reflected some of his personal
life. Arthur explains that Ginsberg didn’t intend his life
to be public, however his poetic nature allowed people to
read into his work. He says, “Ginsberg’s careful
manipulation and publication of written materials not
originally intended to be public (i.e., letters and journals)
marks Ginsberg as a curator of his private life. His goal
in part, as Schechner claims, is to “clarify the example”
of his extraordinarily singular life” (227). Allen
Ginsberg’s “The Green Automobile” is our first glance
into his personal life. Although the text of the song
cannot be found, it can be heard in the first few lines that
Allen Ginsberg is homosexual. Most artists abridging
and interpreting the song read them as this:
If I had a Green Automobile
I’d go find my old companion
In his house, on the Western ocean.
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HA! HA! HA! HA! HA!
...
We’d pilgrimage to our highest mount
Of our earlier Rocky Mountain Visions
Laughing in each other’s arms
Delight surpassing highest Rockies.
The “laughing in each other’s arms” usually gives the
listeners a hint that Ginsberg may be
homosexual. Whether this was intentional or not,
Ginsberg eventually made his sexual preference known
to the public. Arthur states that even Ginsberg was
unsure how he wanted the poem to be read; privately or
publicly.
In fact, Ginsberg is fond of equating “The Green
Automobile” with the letters written that
year. For instance, while apologizing to Cassidy
for not having written in a while, Ginsberg
explains that his writ copy of the “The Green
Automobile,” which he includes with the letter,
proves that “though this letter is late I’ve been
writing it, in other forms. (229)
These “other forms” could symbolize Ginsberg’s
struggle to write the letters as private consumption or
public. Arthur then quotes from Oliver Harris, who
wrote about the Beat Letter exchanges, about Ginsberg’s
debate: “. . . measures Ginsberg’s identification of letter
and literature, hinting at the reciprocal economy that
makes letters poems and of poems letters . . . eliding the
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distinction between the poem as publishable and public
property” (Harris, 177). It is often said that authors give
their work some biographical meaning; we have seen it
with On the Road. Allen Ginsberg’s “The Green
Automobile” may be the first we have seen of his
openness to the public about his personal life.
Arthur dives further into the letters that were
exchanged between Jack Kerouac and Neal Cassidy. He
explains how Ginsberg’s biographical gestures were not
easily done despite his poetic brilliance. Arthur states
that the time period was once in which Ginsberg was
very fragile; Ginsberg was battling his homosexuality
and his personal family life. The letters to Kerouac were
very in-depth and although they were meant to be
private, the essence of them could not have been kept
that way.
Early in the letter exchange, Ginsberg indicates a
parallel instrumentality between letters and
conversations. In a letter dated 1948, he claims to
have “at last discovered my art, along the lines
laid down in conversations and late letters”
(1948a). The “art” Ginsberg claims to have
collaboratively “discovered” is verse poetry,
namely the sonnet, whose intellectual
compression (what young Ginsberg marvels at as
“a jewel of thought”) is the antithesis of the
declamatory long line that drives Ginsberg’s
mature poetry. (Arthur, 231).
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81
Ginsberg had written many letters asking Kerouac to
visit him. These letters are praising Kerouac for creating
Allen’s new “art.” He feels that his art is less important,
than the actual presence of the person who created
it. This gives the reader a chance to read into Ginsberg’s
actual motive. “We thus see early on Ginsberg’s
preference for personal interaction over the isolating act
of writing, a preference that eventually leads to poetry
that draws on the intimacy of a specific audience”
(Arthur 231). This “art” needed to become public in
order to be enjoyed to the fullest; it was dependent of the
public.
Ginsberg continues to write in this new form and
eventually tells Kerouac in another letter that he has
failed to write a manuscript dealing with “personal
problems.” Ginsberg criticizes himself about how he
was a “poser”, who “ventriloquially” evokes allusions
and forms.” Ginsberg is clearly battling trying to have
his life reflected in his work; however, he is actually
alienating himself from it. Wes can say that Ginsberg
wants to welcome the readers into his life, via his
writing, but he is not sure what the outcome will
be. Arthur later shows that Ginsberg was trying to
incorporate both his conversations and poems into the
letters, but they often stand apart from each other:
Ginsberg’s early contributions to the letter
exchange tend to treat letter content and poetic
efforts separately. The poems that begin to
accompany letters are lengthily introduced but set
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apart on the page, or appended to the finished
letters, as though the poems are on display rather
than organically related to the act of
correspondence. The two kinds of text do not
merge. (232)
Ginsberg desperately tries to keep his poetic self into the
letters that were personal to Kerouac and Cassidy;
however, it could not be done when his personal
conversations were blatant. Picture going to a diner and
ordering a meal of scrambled eggs and when the eggs
get to you, there’s an image of a naked woman made in
ketchup onto of the eggs. They are totally unrelated and
forcing them together hurt the image of the author, or in
the example’s case, the waitress.
This research has given me great insight of how
there are works within the Beat Generation that make
various connections. Not only are there character-tocharacter links present, but there are author-to-reader
connections. These relationships can carry a story
forward and may be very pivotal to it, while the struggle
of an author trying to reach out to his/her writer can be
easily seen. The articles by George Dardess, Karen
Skinazi, and Jason Arthur helped this paper prove
several points: The dualism and friendship of Sal and
Dean was important to On the Road and Allen Ginsberg
was trying to reach out to the audience even before his
poem “Howl”.
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83
Works Cited
Arthur, Jason. “Allen Ginsberg's Biographical
Gestures.” Texas Studies in Literature
and Language 52.2 (2010): 227-246.
Dardess, George. “The Delicate Dynamics of
Friendship: A Reconsideration of Kerouac's
On the Road.” American Literature: A Journal
of Literary History, Criticism, and
Bibliography 46.2 (1974): 200-206.
Harris, Oliver. “Cold War Correspondents: Ginsberg,
Kerouac, Cassady, and the Political Economy of
Beat Letters.” Twentieth Century Literature
46.2 (Summer 2000): 171-192.
Kerouac, Jack. On the Road. New York, NY: Viking,
(1957) 2007.
Skinazi, Karen E. H. "Through Roots And Routes: On
the Road's Portrayal of an Outsider's Journey into
the Meaning Of America." Canadian Review of
American Studies/Revue Canadienne D'etudes
Américaines 39.1 (2009): 85-103.
84 The Molloy Student Literary Magazine